


Find My Own Way Down

by JustRamblinOn



Series: Just A Survivor [4]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, IDK if you made it this far you know what Im like, Miscarriage, PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Use, Pregnancy, Violence, cussing/adult language, some self harm aspects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-12-30 17:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 15,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustRamblinOn/pseuds/JustRamblinOn
Summary: Daryl's POVcompanion to "Those Who Arrive"Part four of the Just a Survivor series





	1. Slow Down

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "Oats on the Water" by Ben Howard, which was featured in season 4 episode 4 "Indifference" if anyone's interested

She stood where she always did, leaning against the railing while the sun came up at her back, looking out over their little world. 

Goddamn, she was beautiful. 

He stayed there in the doorway for a minute, just admiring her in the early morning light. Then he moved up behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her neck. 

"Mornin', woman. Why ain't you in bed with me still?" He asked, like he did every morning they woke up together, and he could feel her smile without having to see it. 

It was just a little thing, something he'd said to her once months ago, after the asshole Governor was dead and she'd been looking less like someone had ripped her apart and forgotten a few pieces when they put her back together. It'd been a joke, but the way her eyes had looked when she'd grinned at him had made his heart pound. 

So he'd done it again the next morning, when he woke to an empty place beside him and cool air against his skin where he'd fallen asleep with her tucked warm under his arm. She'd beamed at him, eyes dancing, and that was it- it'd become their thing, a private little moment that started his day with her laughing eyes and soft smile. 

"Morning, Dixon. See the walkers?" she asked, and he snorted at her. 

Yeah, he saw the walkers. He always saw the walkers. 

He wanted to be seeing her. 

She was stressing though, worrying out loud to him and while he loved being there for her, he wanted her to just slow down. Just slow down, for once in her damn life. 

She'd been running like crazy for months, and he could have sworn she didn't even realize it. He wondered if this is what she'd been like, before the world ended- constantly moving, constantly solving people's problems and handling shit they should have been able to solve themselves. 

Everybody in the damn place seemed to think that with Rick having stepped down, the name Dixon meant 'leader'. And God knew, he hated doing it to her, but he and Merle just didn't know what to do with some of the shit these people brought to them. 

What did he know about solving people's arguments over shelf space and who took who's shit from the wash on laundry day? It was just goddamn shit. Get some more if you needed it, or punch the guy you thought took it. 

But that didn't work in a civilized community, and he could picture the look on her face as she'd lectured him about rules and solving problems with peaceable discussion and by committee instead of taking the law into your own hands. She was all about building this place up, and he loved to see her thrive like she had been for months. 

But he still wanted her to slow the fuck down. Even more now that there might be a baby. 

He tried not to think about it too much, tried to just wait and see and not get too attached. Hell, he didn't know if he wanted one or not. Little Ass-kicker was cute, but taking care of her had put a strain on them all for awhile, and this life was dangerous. 

Those damn biters at the fence proved it. 

But a baby. With her. Seeing her change and grow and shit? Seeing a little version of her? Watching Merle be an uncle and her be a mom? 

Oh, yeah, he wanted that. 

But she acted like it was a burden and a chore, like taking a little extra damn care to stay safe was a damn prison sentence. 

So when she said something about everything falling apart when she left, it just popped out of his mouth before he thought, even though he knew it was the wrong fucking thing to say. 

"Maybe you should just stop leavin' then," he said, and instantly winced, tensing for the fight he knew that would start. 

Felt like all they'd done since she'd told him she was late was fight. 

He just wanted to know one way or another; wanted her to be careful and be safe until they did. Take care of herself, and let him take care of her. 

But she pushed away from him, out of his arms, and gave him that stubborn glare that he loved so much and made him want to pound his head against the bricks of their tower at the same time. 

He tried to backpedal, not wanting to have the same fight all over again. "That's not what I meant," he offered with an internal groan, but she wasn't having any of it. 

"Really? Are you sure?" she snapped, and they were off. 

He was getting so tired of fighting with her.


	2. Kill a Virus with an Arrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pregnancy  
> miscarriage/pregnancy loss  
> past child abuse  
> cannon typical violence

She wouldn't stay away from him or from the dead, sitting on the ground beside him with a bandanna tied around the lower half of her face while he angrily shoveled dirt for yet another grave. 

Twelve of their people, his people, dead in one morning, and it wasn't something they could guard against. It was a damn disease. 

What the hell was he supposed to do, try to kill a virus with an arrow? Fuck. 

It made him feel a little better when Rick told her she shouldn't be there, but she was all riled up about what had happened same as he was, and he let it go. 

She was trying to convince Rick to step up and do his damn job- the one he'd claimed on the side of the road after the farm fell, yelling about how it wasn't a democracy anymore and they could get in line or hit the road on their own- and he agreed with her about that, so he threw his own two cents in and backed her play. 

Then Maggie started screaming, and they were all running, and he didn't even think about trying to stop her from helping, because the fence was coming down and they were gonna need every damn pair of hands they had. 

And hers were some of the best, he thought grimly as they set to work. 

 

His people needed medicine, and he needed her safe so he could do his job and get it. 

She wasn't cooperating. 

"You're stayin' put, and stayin' out of the way of anybody infected," he snarled at her, and she rose, fire in her eyes as they went around again. "You ain't gettin' this!" 

"Don't tell me what to do, Dixon!" she snapped at him, and goddamn it. Goddamn it. 

She was going to stay safe from this if it killed him. He knew now; he didn't need no damn test to tell him for sure. She was carrying his baby, throwing up most of what she ate every damn day, and he couldn't kill an illness. 

So she just wasn't going to get it. She fucking wasn't, and she was going to damn well listen to him this time. 

"Goddamn it, woman! You're pregnant! Fightin's bad enough, and I know I cain't stop you from that, but this is sickness! You could die, or lose the baby, or both!"

He felt the words explode out of him, and would have cheerfully bitten off his own tongue when he remembered that the whole damn Council was in the room with them and she'd wanted it kept quiet until they knew for sure. 

Well, what the fuck ever. He knew. 

She narrowed her eyes at him and sighed. "Well, the cat's out of that bag. Thanks, Dixon," she snapped, and the venom in her voice as she said his name made him flinch. 

Fuck. He was fucking this all up. 

But she was being so damn stubborn, too. 

 

Merle rode shotgun, Michonne and Bob and Tyreese in the backseat while he drove. He was glad to have the help, but the damn car was crowded and he was pissed and his brother was tryin' to have some damn therapy while Tyreese stared out the window and brooded over Karen, Bob looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here, and Michonne smirked at him from between them. 

"You gotta leave that girl alone, little brother," Merle was saying now. "She knows what the hell she's doin'." 

"What do you know about it, Merle?" he snapped, irritated. 

"I know you're bein' a dumbass. I get it," his brother added as Daryl scowled out the windshield. "You wanna keep her safe. Blah blah."

"It ain't just about her no more!" Daryl hissed. "She's pregnant!" 

"And she's still a person, asshole," Merle snapped back in a flash of irritation that had Daryl glancing at him in surprise. "So stop actin' like the baby she's growin' is more important than she is and trust her to do what's best for both of 'em. Idiot," he muttered under his breath, looking out the window. 

"What the fuck do you know about it?" he snarled, and then winced as his brother's eyes flashed and his head whipped around to glare at Daryl.

"A damn sight more than you, baby brother," Merle snapped back, and Daryl didn't say anything else as Merle lapsed into silence and started brooding out the window like Tyreese. 

Fuck. 

 

There'd been a girl, when they were kids. 

Well, he'd been a kid. Merle'd been a few months shy of eighteen, and the girl'd been sixteen. She was sweet and soft and pretty, a light of something better than the dirty, smoky hole of a trailer, hole of a life, that they were stuck in. She'd been from the right side of the tracks, while they- the Dixon boys- were on the wrong side.   
Merle was already on a steady run to nowhere, dealing drugs on the sly to keep them fed and landing himself in juvie more than once. But when the girl came along, he tried. He'd really tried. 

And for two beautiful months, there'd been light and life and laughter in Daryl's world- not drunk or high hysterical giggles, not raucous angry hard laughs that weren't about humor at all; but actual laughter. 

Then the girl'd gotten pregnant. 

She'd come to their house, crying and worried and talking about how her daddy would kill Merle when he found out, and how she had to go or Merle did or both. Merle'd told her it would be ok, and he'd take care of her and the baby, even if she was only sixteen. She'd believed him, and Merle'd been making plans to get himself and thirteen year old Daryl out of there when Merle turned eighteen. He'd convinced the girl to wait a few months to say anything; to keep it hidden as long as she could. 

But Merle couldn't keep a damn secret to save his life. 

And when their dad found out? Well, their dad had beat the holy hell out of Merle, screaming at him and taking his belt to Merle's back worse than in a long time. 

Merle had taken it, mouth set and eyes hard, just accepting the beating and yelling at Daryl to run, to get his ass in the woods and wait for Merle. 

He had, but he knew it'd just pissed their daddy off worse. He'd gone to the girl's house, drunk and high, and gotten in a fight with the girl's dad. Merle'd followed him, beat all to hell as he was, and tried to stop it, but it was too late. 

Their dad went to jail. The girl had seen the fight; seen their dad punch out hers, seen Merle all beat up, seen both Merle and their dad arrested. Merle'd gotten let go a few days later when the cops decided he hadn't been fighting so much as trying to stop the fight, but it was too late. 

The girl had lost the baby in all the drama, and she hadn't wanted anything to do with Merle or the Dixons again. Her parents had packed up and moved the day before Merle got out of jail.

Merle had gotten even worse after that, and he'd enlisted the day he turned eighteen, and never looked back. 

Daryl didn't even remember that girl's name anymore.


	3. You Promised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> past rape/non con  
> cannon typical violence  
> implied threat of domestic violence (NOT ACTUALLY HAPPENING)

The bastard wasn't dead. 

Rick and the others had been lying to him for nearly a year, and the motherfucking scum who'd terrorized and hurt his girl was still walking the earth. 

Rick had lied to him for nine fucking months. 

Daryl was gonna have his goddamn head, and he didn't give a crap that he loved Rick like a brother, that Rick's son was like a son to Daryl as well and was right there beside him. It didn't matter that she was running behind him and he knew she wanted him to stop. 

He didn't give a shit. 

There was just the red haze of anger all around his mind; just the memory of the look in the bastard's one eye as he hit his knees, clutching the wrist of the hand Daryl had put an arrow through when he'd waved that gun at his girl. There was only her face as she broke apart in his arms, outside the shed where the Governor'd brutalized her; her hard, desperate scream as Hershel patched her up and she held completely still under Merle's hold; the dead, blank look in her eyes as Rick pulled the bag off her head and took her arm to lead her out of there- 

Rick was on the ground with Daryl on his back, and his fist was in Rick's face- once, twice, going for a third- and Rick just took it, just laid there and took it, eyes not meeting Daryl's. He wrapped a hand around Rick's throat, not to block his air, just to make him look at Daryl, and as he pulled back to hit him again, his brother grabbed his fist. 

Merle tried to pull him off Rick, but Daryl wasn't really there right now; he was back on the road outside of Woodbury, Maggie's harsh whisper- no, not me- ringing in his ears and Merle wasn't the brother he'd found and grown to love, he was just the bastard who took his girl to that place and left her there, and- 

"Daryl, stop!" 

She was just there, between his raised fist and Merle, and his heart stopped and ice flooded his veins as he dropped his fist instantly. 

Goddamn it, woman, why the hell would she get between the two of them? 

His brother wrapped his arm around his girl's waist and tried to hustle her out of the way, staring Daryl down with hard eyes that held anger, fear, and worry. Merle's slow voice telling her not to get in his way made his eyes narrow at his brother; who the hell did he think he was? Did Merle think he'd lay a hand on his girl, no matter how angry he was? 

Fuck that shit. 

"Oh shut up, Merle. I’m probably gonna be gettin’ in your path too in a minute,” she snapped, and the reminder that he and Merle were on the same side, that this was the brother he loved, brought him back down from that red, angry haze. 

Shame started to creep in as she continued, staring into his eyes. 

“Daryl won’t touch me. If I’d ever worried about that, I wouldn’t have married him. Dixon, seriously, calm the fuck down. Now.”

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, knowing she was right. Slowly, slowly, he felt the tight coiled tension that filled him start to fade, and he grabbed onto the edges of control and held on for all his might as she whispered. 

"You promised." 

He glared at her, knowing she'd been right and hating that she'd been smart to make him make that promise before she told him anything. "You're a damn sneaky bitch sometimes, ya know that?" he growled, and she just grinned at him and shrugged. 

Merle was looking confused, his arm still loose around Daryl's girl, but Daryl didn't mind. She was looking up at him with that smile, but he could see the concern behind her eyes. 

"Yeah. I love ya, woman. Thanks," he told her quietly, and her whole face softened.


	4. Moonshine and a Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> past alcoholism  
> past child abuse  
> past major character death  
> past self harm reference

She walked down the damn path to meet him; walked away from Daryl with a smile and instructions to save their people. 

When was she going to realize she was the only one in the whole damn world he cared about saving? 

He stood at the gate, rifle in his hands and his heart in his throat, watching as she faced off with the bastard like the fearless warrior she was. Merle stood at his shoulder, and he was muttering a long stream of creative profanity that Daryl didn't think was anatomically possible. It was a far cry from the smooth competency that usually fell over Merle in situations like this, and he glanced at his brother's white-knuckled grip on his own weapon- one of the military guns they'd taken from Woodbury. His brother's face held a suppressed terror he'd never in his life expected to see, and Daryl knew it was all for his girl. 

He'd never have thought his brother would love his girl just as much as he did, but it eased the heart-pounding terror to know someone like Merle was on his girl's side. They'd get her out of this together if anyone could. 

 

 

Bullets were flying, the tank had taken down the fence and was rolling toward them in a slow death march, and Hershel was dead. He was frantic, Merle at his shoulder, trying desperately to break through the line of people attacking to get to his girl. 

She was somewhere in that field, with Rick and that one-eyed asshole, and he couldn't- he had to- 

But these damn people just kept getting in his way! Then there was the tank, and he'd had to think fast to take it out as he saw Maggie screaming to Merle about Beth and he remembered there were more people here he cared about than just her. 

He blew up the tank, but the asshole driving it made it out, and they squared off as the dead were suddenly streaming in from all sides. The asshole was cocky, and Daryl actually enjoyed putting that bolt in his brain. 

There was no time to think about that though, because the damn dead were suddenly everywhere, and he saw Merle but didn't have a path, and there was no way he could get to the field now. 

Hell, there was no way he could get out of here now. Not as one of the living anyway. 

Then he saw her, just a streak of blonde hair and a rifle in her hands that was almost as big as she was, and damn if Beth hadn't found a way out for him. He took it, and he tried to go to the field, but she didn't let him. 

She didn't let him, holding him back and screaming at him that they had to get out, that it was a lost cause. 

It broke his heart, but he knew she was right- and he got her out. He got her out, and he didn't see his girl anywhere. 

 

They had plans for shit like this. She'd made sure of it. 

But the dead didn't seem to care about their plans and everywhere he went they were blocked at all turns. 

He'd have gone right through them, the hell with it all, if Beth hadn't kept him going. He'd have lost his mind in the grief and fear if Beth hadn't kept him sane. 

And when she'd broken one day, after another pointless attempt to get back, to get through to their home, he'd had to give up and take care of her. Beth was all he had left, and she was all that mattered right then, as she raged at him and then stormed off lookin' for a damn drink. 

She reminded him that he wasn't the only one who'd lost everything. Beth'd watched as the Governor hacked her daddy's head off with a damn sword, and then Maggie and Glenn and Judith and everybody were just gone in a swirl of smoke and corpses, and she was left with just one redneck determined to kill himself to get back to his girl. 

One selfish asshole who thought his own pain was more than anyone else's. 

So if she wanted a damn drink, he'd get her a damn drink, and he'd fucking keep her alive. 

 

But he goddamn well should have known better'n to play her game, especially when he was sitting in a shack so much like the dump he'd grown up calling home, drinking moonshine from a mason jar and sitting in a damn recliner that looked an awful like the one his daddy had been king of. 

He sipped slowly, the taste of it running down his tongue to the back of his throat where it burned as it settled like lead, and he thought about the first time his daddy had seen him drunk. He was fourteen, and Merle'd been gone for a whole year and he hadn't heard a word from him in all that time. He'd broken into some of his daddy's home brew, thinking if the old man liked it so much, why'd he care if Daryl joined in, right? 

Wrong. 

One of the scars on his back burned like the moonshine at the memory, and he took another long pull to drive it away.

He said he was a mean drunk, but what he really meant was he was a bitter, angry, aggressive asshole of a drunk, as likely to take a swing at you as to speak. 

But she pushed, damn it, and she was all he had left, and so he played.

Hell, who was he kidding? He played because he wanted to forget. He played because he wanted to. 

Until it wasn't a game anymore, and he screamed at her about how he hadn't ever cut his wrists for attention or acted like everything was a big game, and he drug her outside when the walker came and made her watch as he shot it once, twice, three times- just like he'd shot the goddamn Governor. 

And just like the goddamn Governor, the rotting bastard didn't die. 

 

Beth twisted her damn ankle somehow, and he'd played the white knight. That's what his girl would have called it, he thought, as he piggybacked Beth into the funeral home. 

He just called it keeping her alive. 

It'd gotten better. It'd gotten easier, somehow, though it still felt like his heart'd been cut out of his chest and he was watching himself bleed out slowly as the days passed and they didn't find nothing that looked like their people. Maybe it wasn't easier, really, so much as he just gave up. 

The coffin was more comfortable than it looked, and considering he'd been sleeping in one-hour snatches on the ground for days, it looked pretty damn good. Beth's voice had him smiling slightly, something he didn't even think he'd known how to do anymore. 

It made him think of nights in the guard tower, when he'd wake up to the sound of Beth's voice and his girl in his arms with moonlight on her face. He'd lay there and watch the way the shadows moved on the walls while he listened to her sing to Judith in the courtyard. She'd taken to lil Ass-kicker right away, and when she'd woken up in the middle of the night and couldn't get back to sleep- especially while she was teething and every little thing would set her off with that damn whine or ear splitting scream- Beth's voice and the cool night breeze would settle her back down. 

Daryl'd fall back to sleep feeling safe in a way he hadn't for most of his life- maybe all of it- with his face pressed against his girl's neck, her scent all around him, and Beth's singing coming faintly from the courtyard. 

 

And then Beth was just gone, and he was alone. 

You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon.

Goddamn, she was right.


	5. You'll Fear What You Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cannon typical violence  
> threat of rape/non con  
> threatened rape/non con of a minor

They had his girl. 

He'd seen Rick and Michonne and Merle, and he'd thought that was as scared as he could get. How the hell were they here? His friends- his brother- were the ones these assholes were chasing? 

Man, he shoulda known. They'd taken out four of these bastards, and they weren't exactly easy pickings. He shoulda known it'd be his friends. 

But how the hell should he have known? He'd been lookin' for his people, any of his people, for a long damn time and ain't seen any sign of them yet. 

And where was Carl? 

And if Rick got out- 

They had his girl. 

She stood there, quiet as a mouse, and one of these ugly assholes had his arm around her, a gun to her head, and was sniffin' his girl's hair. 

 

He had to save them. Had to. Especially when the fat one drug a terrified Carl out of the car, when he learned that it hadn't been Michonne who'd taken out some of these jerks, it'd been his girl. 

His girl who stood there cool and calm and ready to take down the asshole holding her. His girl who looked like she'd been through hell and back and was heading down a second time to take out the devil himself. 

He tried to talk them down, and when he knew it wouldn't work- when Joe called his girl the 'piece of ass' and she'd smirked a little- he'd offered himself up. 

He could take a beating. He'd been taking beatings all his life. 

He'd get a few good licks in himself, but then they'd be square, his girl would be fine, Carl would be fine, Merle and Michonne and Rick would be fine and they could get the hell away from these guys. 

So he dropped his bow and waited for them to start, and took the first few blows without a fight, until Joe started calling for them to teach him all the way. 

Shit, he knew what that meant. 

 

He fought back, and he was doin' all right, he supposed, but he wasn't winning by any means. And Joe the bastard- who'd been an asshole but at least he'd had some sort of shit code- was talkin' to his girl. 

"Well, ain't gonna be his girl for much longer, sweetcheeks. You're ours now," Joe said, and Daryl caught the next punch and threw the guy back as fresh fury hit him. 

"First, we're gonna beat Daryl to death-" Joe was telling Rick. Someone snuck up on him and landed kick to his leg and his knee buckled.

"Then we'll have the girls, starting with the feisty one." 

Daryl rolled with the motion and came up swinging, but he was gonna loose, damn it. There were too many and he was tryin' to take these assholes down with his bare hands. 

He needed a goddamn knife. 

"Then the boy." 

Daryl'd be dead twice over before any one of these bastards laid a hand on Carl. 

 

His girl thought the same thing, because as Daryl hit the ground and curled around himself when one of these asshole got in a punch that sucked the air from his lungs and left him falling, the screaming started. 

When that made the assholes kicking him pause, he exploded into action, grabbing the rock by his hands and taking out one's knee. As the guy dropped, Daryl was on his with the rock, and that was one less prick to worry about. 

Then Merle was just there, metal-covered arm knocking down prick number two as Daryl tackled number three, and Merle was curb stomping his asshole's head in. 

Then it was over. 

Rick stood there over Joe's body and there was blood everywhere, and Daryl realized he'd bitten the asshole's throat out. 

Jesus fuckin' Christ. 

And his girl- 

He looked around wildly and there she was, coated in blood herself and standing over the fat bastard. She'd slit his throat so deep he could see bone.

When Rick started toward her with that animal look in his eyes, and she just held out her knife to him, eyes cold and hard and not at all worried as Rick took it and started stabbing the prick's body over and over and over again.


	6. Now She's Slitting Throats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miscarriage/ pregnancy loss  
> cannon typical violence

His baby was gone. His baby was gone and his girl tried to pull away, expecting him to hate her; to blame her. 

Why in hell would he do that? He just held her closer and cried while she did, trying to tell her with his arms around her that he didn't care. 

Because he didn't.

It hurt, he wouldn't lie, but he'd already given up everyone he'd loved for dead, and the baby he'd never met was a small price to pay to have his girl, his brother, his friends, and his friend's kid all right here within his reach. 

He was working with Merle to haul the bodies away in silence, having sent Michonne and Carl into the truck to get some rest and shoved Rick and his girl down beside the truck to do the same. They were all looking traumatized as hell, and Rick and his girl were soaked in blood and staring with blank, wide eyes at the trees in front of them, not moving while Daryl and Merle worked. 

He and Merle exchanged worried looks as they moved around, stripping the bodies of anything useful and starting the process of clearing them all away so the kid wouldn't have to see when he came back out. 

When they were far enough into the woods to not be overheard, Merle filled him in rapidly on everything that had happened to them, and told him in a grim voice that he was worried about Daryl's girl. 

"Little sister ain't been the same since I found her in that tree, baby brother. She needs ya. Blames herself for the baby, the prison, all of it," he said.

Daryl huffed, heaving the asshole he was hauling into the pile. "I know. She slit the asshole's throat, man, and just handed Rick a goddamn knife to go ape shit on his body. Bastard was already dead, and neither of 'em cared." 

"She slit the Governor's throat, too. She told me," Merle said as they stood there, looking at the bodies of the Claimers. 

"The hell happened to her?" Daryl asked softly. "That ain't like my girl. She's all about law and order. Kept that bastard Shane alive when he tried to rape her twice. Kept me from killin' the Governor. Now she's slittin' throats?" 

"You weren't there, baby bro. She got out all alone, watched the place get overrun. Thought everyone was dead. All while dealin' with losin' that baby and believing even if you'n'me were alive, we'd hate her when we found out. Guilt'll drive a person crazy. I know." 

He thought about that as they finished clearing the place up, and he looked at his two blood-covered friends, who'd somehow become killers while he'd been away. 

Yeah, guilt'll drive a person crazy a'ight. It was already working on him.


	7. Casual Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cannon typical violence  
> brief mention of past rape/non con  
> mention of miscarriage/pregnancy loss

She didn't press about Beth, and he tried not to think about it. They were pretty busy anyway, what with finding Terminus and all. 

Daryl didn't like the look of that Gareth asshole, but he wanted safe place for them desperately. He needed one, for his girl's sake. 

They hadn't talked about it really, any of it. Hell, they hadn't really talked all that much period. 

He didn't want to, honestly. 

Guilt was tearing him up inside. He'd given up on her. Out there, with Beth, he'd given up on ever finding her again, and he'd been on his way to surviving without her when Beth disappeared. How was he supposed to tell her that? 

And how was he supposed to deal with this new brutal side to her? 

He was determined to protect her, no matter what, be he wondered if he even knew who she was anymore as he watched her run out from behind a car, sink her knife into an asshole's neck, grab his gun, and mow down a bunch of others without any change to her expression. 

It was badass, and these guys were trying to kill them all and- according to her, and why the hell would she say it if she wasn't certain- eat them, but still. 

Who was she? 

This was the woman who'd fallen asleep on his shoulder the night before, who'd clung to him and sobbed when he hadn't pushed her away after learning about the baby. This was his girl, no doubt- she still smiled and ran her mouth and walked and talked and carried herself exactly the same. It wasn't like after that one-eyed bastard had raped her when it was her but not her, traumatized into killing off a part of herself so that he didn't recognize her anymore. 

This was all her, just with a side of casual violence he'd never, not even once in all their time, glimpsed from her. 

Then the wave of walkers came between him and her and Rick, and he watched with his heart in this throat as they took on five Terminus assholes themselves. Then he and Merle and Glenn had needed to deal with the walkers, and when he looked back, Rick was finishing off one of the assholes and- 

He saw as the fat jackass slashed out at her and she cried out, and he was moving forward with his heart pounding, but she just put a hand to her cheek and laughed a little. Then she closed in on the bastard, ducking under his next swing, and then she was standing there with his guts pouring over her hands and onto her shoes. 

She shook the blood off her knife with her nose wrinkled in disgust and shot him a grin as she fell in behind Rick, while the guy stared at his innards as he fell behind her.

 

He'd been just as scared as she was when he dropped over the fence and his brother didn't follow. 

That long moment with the blood pounding in his ears as he waited seemed like an eternity, and then she threw herself toward the fence, panic in her eyes, but he couldn't let her go back in there. He couldn't. 

So he held her back as she struggled against him, screaming out Merle's name and telling him to let her go. 

He wanted to; he did- it was his brother; it was Merle; he couldn't just leave him- but Daryl knew if he went she would too, and he couldn't have that. He couldn't let her go back in there; and it killed him to hold her back. 

But he did. 

And she yelled at him in a rage, her eyes accusing as he fought to keep her alive, damn it, didn't she see? 

Didn't she know it was his brother and he was scared as hell too? 

Then Merle was over the fence and mouthing off to them and she just- she melted into his arms, all the fight and fire draining out of her as she sagged against him. He held her up, felt the death-grip she got on his arm around her waist, and he just pressed his forehead to her shoulder and tried to remember how to breathe. 

"Merle Dixon, you'd better not do that to us again," she growled, and Daryl heard the fear in her voice, the tremble that matched the one in his own hands. 

His brother just laughed and clapped him on the back, and he didn't bother lifting his head from his girl's shoulder, just flipped him off without looking up. 

 

He'd expected her to agree with Rick, to be the first one at the fence like an avenging angel of death. 

He was glad when she said they should just go, her eyes sweeping the group and lingering on him and Merle, echoes of panic in them. 

Then he saw the figure coming out of the trees hesitantly, and he was two steps behind his brother, watching him sweep Carol up and hold her tight. Then Daryl was shoving his brother out of the way so he could do the same, because goddamn- hers was the face he'd given upon the earliest, all the way back in their home when YN had told him Rick had made her leave. 

He'd been sure Rick'd killed her, but here she was, and from the looks of things, she'd saved all there asses. 

When he let go of Carol so Rick could hug her next, he glanced over and saw his girl, her arms wrapped around his brother as she whispered something to him and his brother held on to her tightly.


	8. Tearing Down

He'd forced her to sit down and stay down when they made camp, the simmering anger than had been brewing in him for hours threatening to explode all over her if she tried to help one more damn time. 

Her cheek was bleeding, she'd taken a damn hard hit to the head before those Terminus freaks had tried to drain them, and she'd gotten hit in the rib Merle'd broken the year before as well. She was exhausted, too, her steps having gotten slower and less direct as they walked; and he knew she was damn drained. 

She'd fallen apart again when Rick and Carl had been reunited with lil Ass-kicker, and he could admit that he damn well had too. Then she'd talked to Carol, and he knew some of what had happened when Carol had left, enough to know that the two of them hadn't exactly parted as friends. He and Merle'd given them some space to talk, and it seemed to have helped, but still. 

She was pushing herself, trying to take care of everything and not let anyone take care of her, and the bubbling rage he felt was creeping steadily higher the more Rick looked to her for advice or Carl gave her those adoring eyes or Glenn dropped back to tell her thank you in a serious voice for fast talking her way into saving his life when they were all kneeling over that trough. It crept higher when Merle flashed her a grin and cracked a joke- something about pudding that had Rick and Michonne and Carl laughing along with her and he didn't get at all- and when that new asshole with the fucked up hair gave her a once over that lingered a little too long. 

Everyone wanted a fuckin' piece of his girl, and she was all too willing to give and give and give until she dropped. 

So he'd make her damn well rest while he could. 

 

She'd at least done as he asked and let the others set up camp, and she was sitting beside Carl laughing at him and lil Ass-kicker when he and Merle came back. 

Merle'd called him a surly dick when Daryl'd snapped at his brother over some smart ass comment, and the two of them hadn't really spoken much after that, but they came back with dinner. 

So whatever. 

He'd felt the anger start to fade when she beamed up at him as soon as they came into camp, and now with her leaning on his shoulder quietly in the dark he was finally starting to feel like himself. 

Of course he was annoyed that she'd volunteered for first watch, but that was just his girl. He was really starting to wonder what he'd been so worked up about when she broke the easy silence with a soft question. 

"What happened with Beth?" 

And his heart clenched in his chest as he heard Beth's voice singing in his head, saw her grinning at him in triumph as she held up an unopened jar of peanut butter, felt her arms around his neck as he piggybacked her into the funeral home. 

"I don't- it's my fault. I don't wanna talk about her," he whispered, voice raw, remembering the fear of all those damn walkers, telling Beth to run and he'd lead them away, finding her pack in the road and watching the car speed away from him. 

Running all damn night, until he couldn't run anymore and he was well and truly alone. 

Then his girl was standing, her movements jerky and her voice blank as she told him to go get some sleep and stalked off, and that creeping anger was back and he wanted to scream at her. 

He slid through the darkness behind her and grabbed her arm, and her knife was at his throat as she turned, a killer he didn't recognize flashing in her eyes for a second. 

"That how it is now?" he snapped at her, and the hurt bewilderment on her face just spurred him on. 

Then she was snapping back at him about how he didn't say he didn't wanna talk about somethin', he said he didn't wanna talk about her, and what the damn hell did that mean? 

"Forget about it," she murmured as he stared at her, and there was a wounded look in her eyes that made him feel like an ass. And that just pissed him off more, so when she told him it looked like his heart broke every time someone mentioned her, he lashed out. 

Because she wasn't far off, and that made him feel guilty. 

"Ya jealous or somethin'?" he sneered. 

Her face twisted as she looked at him, and the stab of regret was immediate and strong.

He knew what he was doing, just not why he was doing it. He was copying his brother at his asshole best, and he didn't know why, and that just pissed him off even more. 

Everything fuckin' pissed him off, because it was so much easier to be mad than to feel that black despair and gut churning failure at how he'd lost Beth and his home and hadn't been there for his girl when she needed him. 

Again. 

But his girl knew him too well, and she put him right in his place for the asshole he was being, then turned it around and broke him down, telling him how much she missed him. 

And he found himself opening up to her, and son of bitch, she knew what he needed better than he did, and he wondered why he'd been angry at her when he could have been reaching out to her all along.


	9. Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut adjacent stuff

They were walking, mostly going nowhere in his opinion, and he and his girl had gotten some of their rhythm back. 

He'd missed her so much more than he'd even known. 

So when they were out there, in the woods alone for hours, moving through the trees in easy silence, he wanted to show her. He'd never been much good at words, but the two of them? They were damn good at other things. 

When he turned to her, he saw her eyes widen, just a little, and then she was dropping her bow on the ground and meeting him halfway as if drawn to him like he was to her. He hauled her up into his arms and she wound her legs around him and it was all he could do to keep some measure of safety in mind and not throw her to the ground right there. 

He backed her into a tree instead, and as his hands found her skin, he tried to show her all the ways he'd missed her, missed having her in his arms and under his hands and missed the taste of her on his tongue. 

It didn't matter that she still had blood on her skin and her clothes and her hair, or that the hands trailing fire over his own skin had plunged a knife into someone's neck and guts just a few days before. It didn't matter that they'd drifted so much, been through so much separately that he'd been afraid they'd become strangers to each other even as they walked and talked together-

Here, like this, he knew every inch of her; knew how to make her gasp and cry out and whisper his name in a broken, begging plea. 

And she knew him, knew how to build the need, the craving for her that flooded his veins with fire until he couldn't think of anything but her; couldn't speak anything but her name; couldn't see anything but her face as they took and took what they needed from each other. 

The trees stayed silent, the dead for once letting the living do their living in peace.


	10. Never Said Thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief mentions of miscarriage/pregnancy loss  
> brief mentions of cannon typical violence

The weird ass priest wasn't lying about the church at least, and Daryl and Merle knew shit needed to be done. So while his girl took the priest and Rick and some of the others to some place the priest said would have food, he and his brother headed into the woods to see if they could scare up some water and some game. 

He and Merle hadn't spent much time together, not since the first night Daryl'd found them again, and moving through the trees with his brother at his side might have been familiar, but it wasn't easy and comfortable like it'd been before the prison fell. 

Daryl didn't know if it was him or Merle that'd lost the ease, but he wanted it back. 

"Merle?" he said finally, staring down at the ground where he'd been checking out a rabbit run. Merle just grunted, standing at Daryl's back and keeping an eye on the trees. 

"Never said thanks," he said after a beat, shifting forward in his crouch to get a better look at where the run was going. 

"What for, baby brother?" Merle asked, tone casual. 

Merle sure didn't seem like he felt the way the silence between them was strained, and Daryl found himself scowling and getting pissed. 

But Merle'd saved his girl. She'd told him how Merle'd found her, how she'd been on her way to dead from sheer despair, and Merle'd drawn her back to herself. He owed his brother big, and he knew it, for doing what Daryl'd been unable to do and saving her more than once. 

His brother had patched his girl up, forced her to take care of herself, and helped her find more of their people. He'd consoled her over the baby, telling her it wasn't her fault; he'd pulled her back from taking on more than they needed to with those assholes Daryl'd joined up with; had made sure she'd eaten and rested and shared some of the load as they'd kept moving, looking for somewhere safe. 

All Daryl'd done was lost the one person in his care, after giving up on his family. 

"Ya kept my girl safe," he said quietly now, giving up all pretense of tracking and just staring at his hands. "You took care of her better'n I do when I am around," he added, a little bitterly. 

He flashed to the darkened train car, his girl asleep on his shoulder and his thoughts spinning wildly out of control- his desperate need to do something fighting his need for her to be safe and asleep and comfortable as she could be. He'd tried to tell himself that sitting there with her, being there for her, was more important than anything he thought he and Rick could come up with, any plan they could make. 

Especially since he didn't think they were gonna survive that one. 

He'd fought with himself, but eventually he couldn't take it anymore- his mind kept going to Beth, the car disappearing in the distance; the cold, hard look in his girl's eyes as she'd told Rick that if she hadn't been so worried about the rest of them, she'd have taken her time and carved up the fat bastard who'd tried to hurt Carl instead of ending him quickly. He kept thinking about her, alone in that tree, bleeding and desperate and waiting to die, and him, smiling as he listened to Beth sing. 

He couldn't stand it, and he'd called Merle over, and then he'd spent hours talking to Rick and Michonne and avoiding looking over at them after he had the first time. 

He'd glanced over once, and seen his brother smiling softly down at his girl's sleeping face as she lay, her head on his leg; seen his brother's hand resting on her shoulder. Merle'd tilted his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and Daryl's watched as his brother's body went a little limp as he dropped to sleep in that stone into the water way he'd learned in the army, and something had churned in his stomach at the sight. 

He'd forced it away, knowing he was an idiot, and he hadn't looked over there again. 

It wasn't that he didn't trust her, or that he didn't trust his brother. It was just the guilt. There his brother was, doin' his job again. 

"I didn't do nothin', little brother. Just motivated her to save her own damn self," Merle said, and the easy pride in his tone set Daryl's teeth on edge. 

"She's a warrior," Merle continued. "God knows, I love her. She's the best damn thing ever happened to you, baby bro. I'll always watch her back for you. Now let's find us a damn buck and feast like kings tonight!" 

Merle clapped him on the shoulder and flashed him a grin, and headed into the trees as Daryl rose and followed without a word.


	11. Find Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cannon typical violence  
> major character death

She was warm and solid in his arms, and whatever moodiness had taken over him in the silence of the trees disappeared as his people, his crazy family, drank the communion wine and celebrated, filling their stomachs completely for the first time in a long time. 

She laughed and beamed all around her, looking so damn pretty in the candlelight, he wanted to see every inch of her. To see those eyes shine up at him with that same warmth and laughter as he held her close, all to himself. 

He eyed the doors to either side of the sanctuary, wondering how much hell they'd be in for later if he drug her behind one of them for the night. 

To hell with it. He could take a little teasing the next morning.

 

He slid out from where he was wrapped around her in the darkness, trying not to wake her. But of course, she slept so lightly these days- weeks on the road and all- that she sat up and asked him something as he opened the door. 

He told her to lay back down and she did, calling him a stubborn ass before telling him she loved him, and that made him grin as he made his way through the sleeping forms of his friends curled on the floor or stretched out on the pews. 

Once outside, he nodded to the big newcomer, Abraham, on watch, and headed into the trees. 

He needed some quiet, needed to piss, needed to not be laying there in the darkness thinking about who wasn't there and how he failed. 

Seems every damn time he was still, his daddy's hard, mocking voice echoed in his head, telling him how worthless and useless he was to those he loved. Not even his girl's warmth against his chest had been able to drive that voice away. 

He was wandering around aimlessly, smoking a cigarette, when he ran into Carol as she started to climb into a car alone. 

 

 

He saw Beth falling, saw the spray of blood and other things showering his girl right behind her, and he killed the woman responsible without thinking. 

His girl was a blur of movement, Rick and the others were yelling and Carol's hand was on his arm as he cradled Beth's limp body, remembering scooping her into his arms like this while she laughed and he grumbled as he carried her into the kitchen of that goddamn funeral home. 

You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon. 

He thought she'd been right before. 

He hadn't known anything then.


	12. Take the Long Way 'Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of past abuse  
> violence during an argument

His girl was coming apart at the seams, he could see it, and he wanted to help her as she got everyone motivated. 

But he couldn't.

He watched her crouch and put a hand on Glenn's shoulder, talking to him quietly as he held Maggie, sobbing on the ground, and Glenn was nodding and looking at her with such raw, grateful eyes. 

Daryl was still holding Beth's body, keeping her safe in his arms as his girl stood up after squeezing Glenn's shoulder and moved over to where Rick and his brother and Abraham stood talking. She joined their group, gesturing to the van he leaned against now, some of the other cars all around, and her eyes lingered on him. 

He saw Rick touch her arm and her sorrow-filled, soft glance into Rick's eyes; saw her lips move in a tiny, wry smile as she answered a question. His brother was coming over to him, and said something he snarled a response to. 

He didn't give a shit what the group did next. 

Merle shook his head, something angry crossing his face, and Daryl snarled at him again. Merle called him a jackass and walked away, stopping to talk to the others as he made his way to Daryl's girl's side, where she was speaking to Noah, hands on his shoulders and her serious camp councilor-psychologist face firmly in place. The kid was nodding, crying, and looking at Daryl's girl like she held the secrets to the universe in her eyes. 

He felt something stirring in him then, a black angry rage that filled the empty cold spot that had replaced his heart, and he welcomed it, welcomed the fire that at least made him feel, for the moment, like he was alive. 

 

 

He flung himself out of the van when it stopped, heading for the trees without a word. 

His girl had sat beside him, tried to talk to him several times on the trip; had taken his hand when the creepy priest had done the service for Beth. He'd let her hold his hand, but he'd walked away as soon as he'd done what he had to do for Beth. 

He didn't want to goddamn talk to her about how he was feeling; he didn't want to have her holding his hand and trying to comfort him when she turned to every other fucking bastard in their group for her own comfort the second he looked away. 

He was being a dick and he knew it. He just didn't care. 

He stood in the trees and reached a shaking hand into his pocket, pulling out and lighting a cigarette as he stared at nothing. 

"The hell ya doin', little brother?" 

Merle's voice was pissed, and it reminded him of his daddy. Didn't matter that Merle lacked the edge of cruelty that had characterized their dad's anger; it was close enough to set him off right away. 

Hell, anything would have set him off right away.

"What's it matter to ya?" he snapped, turning to glare at his brother. 

Merle glared right back, and Daryl snorted and sneered at him as he blew smoke out of his nose. 

"Get your ass back into camp and talk to that girl," Merle growled at him. "She's just as traumatized as you, and all she wants is ta take care of your sorry hide." 

"You go talk to 'er. Ya been movin' in on her forever anyway, might as well try it again," he snapped, and Merle was up in his face in a heartbeat. 

"The fuck is your problem?" Merle's eyes were hard, his lips twisted in a half-smirk, half-snarl. "You got somethin' to say to me?" 

"Yeah, I do," Daryl shot back, rage and grief and pain finally snapping him. He dropped the cigarette and shoved Merle back with both hands. "What happened between you and my girl while I was gone, huh? What happened with her'n'Rick? I've seen the way she acts with you two. Flirtin' her head off, always hangin' off ya when she thinks I'm not lookin'. You guys poachin' on what's mine, asshole?" 

With every question, he shoved Merle again, and his brother didn't move, just stared at him with a look of disgust in his eyes that made Daryl's blood burn. 

"You sound just like our daddy, baby bro. I ain't never been so ashamed of you in my life," Merle finally said, shaking his head at him. 

Daryl saw red. 

"Go on then, brother. You need to take a swing? Ol' Merle's right the fuck here. You wanna talk shit 'bout someone who cares about ya? Go ahead; say all ya wanna about your big bro. You can tell me I'm hittin' on your girl all you want. Call me an asshole, accuse me of whatever crosses your mind, my man. But you'd best keep your goddamn mouth shut about her," Merle hissed at him, eyes hard and cold. 

Daryl took a swing, and Merle didn't move- just took the blow right on the eye. His head snapped to the side with the force of it, and Daryl stood there, breathing hard and not able to think about anything through the rage, as Merle just slowly brought his eyes back to his. 

"Feel better, little brother?" he said softly, voice sad, and Daryl just turned and walked away. 

He needed a goddamn drink, and he was gonna find one.


	13. Hold Your Gaze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> past domestic violence  
> past alcoholism  
> past emotional abuse

He found one. More than one. 

He'd seen the little dirt track a mile or so behind them while they'd driven, and he'd made his way there. He followed it, and sure enough, he'd found himself a little backwoods cabin- another dirt floor poor asshole's homemade brew that tasted like piss in a mason jar made its way into his pack, carefully wrapped in a couple of dirty pillowcases to keep the glasses intact. 

He'd made his way back through the woods to their camp, drinking from one of the bottles as he went. By the time the fire was visible, he was well and truly drunk and well and truly pissed. 

He watched for a bit, saw his brother and Tyreese come back through the trees with the group's water bottles and jugs full, and guilt had crept its stinging way through the drunk and angry. 

He should be doin' his damn job, taking care of them.

But then he saw his brother move over to his girl's side as Rick join them, one of them on each side of her. She talked to them rapidly, and Rick and his brother exchanged looks of concern behind her back. He watched, taking another long drink from his now half-empty jar and feeling it burn all the way down like righteous fire as his brother started wiping the blood and brains off his girl's face and clumsily brushing it out of her hair. 

He sneered in disgust as she gave his brother a grateful look and leaned into him a little as Merle sat down and put his hand against her back. She stared into the fire, eyes glistening and looking so damn sad and scared and alone that it stabbed at his lungs when he breathed, even as the black rage welled up and he turned away. 

 

 

His daddy had followed this same damn pattern, and Daryl knew it. 

He knew where he'd learned what he was doing, just not why in the damn hell he was doing it right now. 

After Daryl's mom had died, his dad'd had a serious of sometimes-serious girlfriends as he'd grown up. Some had lasted for weeks, some for months. One had even made it nearly a year, Daryl's junior year in high school, and God knew Daryl hadn't made it easy on her. 

His dad'd do the same thing every time: it'd start out all roses and sunshine; his daddy'd clean himself up some, lay off the moonshine and the cigarettes and the drugs for awhile. He'd have actual food in the fridge and something besides booze and Coke to drink. Daryl'd feel some cautious hope that maybe thing's'd be better for good this time. 

Then the woman would do something- maybe it'd be real, maybe it'd be all in his daddy's head, but she'd piss him off somehow, and then it would start. His daddy'd stew in it for awhile, sniping at the poor girlfriend for every little thing, getting more and more belligerent every time they interacted. 

Then the drinking would start up again- just a six pack in the fridge at first; then a Jack and Coke at dinner; then a mason jar of home brew hurled at the wall and broken glass everywhere. The girlfriend would be crying in the corner as his daddy called her a slut and a whore and accused her of flirting or fucking or prostituting herself out to this man or that man- the neighbor, the cashier at the grocery store, the mailman, her boss. He'd scream and rage and throw things until she'd break and run, and if Daryl ever saw her again she wouldn't meet his eyes. 

That was fine, cause he never really gave a shit about any of them anyway. 

 

 

He took care of the group, goddamn it. He brought them food and water and kept watch over them every damn night. 

He killed dozens of walkers while they slept, and yet every fucking one of them looked at him like he was betraying them when he'd come out of the trees, take his place in the van, and glare them all away. 

Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all.


	14. Go Your Way

His girl watched him all the damn time when he was around, her eyes following him so full of anxiety and pain and worry that he wanted to scream at her. 

He watched his brother keep her from coming into the trees after him; keep her at least a person away from him at all times. He watched Rick give him long, troubled looks and keep his girl close, keeping her so damn busy with the group's needs she didn't have time to come look for him on her own. 

Whatever. If she'd given a shit, she'd have come to him anyway. 

And didn't it just burn his ass that he knew what a dick that thought made him, as he walked into the trees another evening and pulled his last mason jar from his bag to take a long drink. 

He was such a goddamn useless redneck asshole, just like his daddy'd always told him. 

 

He followed her as she walked through the trees looking for him. 

He knew she wasn't fuckin' hunting, just like he knew his brother was following her to stop her again. 

He hated that he knew his brother was doing the right thing, and he hated that he knew he was gonna go talk to them anyway. 

He listened as Merle tried to get her to go back. To just leave him the hell alone. He turned to go, shame stabbing deep because goddamn it, his brother was right. He was right. 

But then she'd started to cry, and his brother'd stepped over and pulled her into a hug, and that was Daryl's job. 

She was Daryl's girl, and he was the one who was supposed to hold her when she cried. 

The guilt and the sorrow and the moonshine he'd already had too much of formed a churning ball of heat inside him and he couldn't handle it, couldn't feel it all, so he shoved it aside in favor of the anger he knew so well, and he stepped into the clearing and opened his damn mouth. 

 

He knew the moment he'd broken everything he cared about. 

Knew it in the way she flinched back from him, and his brother'd looked at him with such undisguised hatred Daryl'd felt it in his soul. 

But he couldn't stop himself, and the poison poured out of him in his father's voice. 

But his girl, his warrior girl, didn't break down and run, not like his daddy's girlfriends. She'd drawn dignity and self-assurance around her like goddamn battle armor, stepped into his shitstorm, and put him in his place. 

And even as she cut him down neatly, the way he'd more than earned, she offered him a spark of hope. 

That shamed him all the more. 

 

He broke the last jar, shattering it with a heave against a tree when he was alone in the woods once again. His brother'd just looked at him when she walked away, and Daryl'd never seen that look on Merle's face before and never wanted to see it again. 

He hadn't been able to meet Merle's eyes, and finally Merle walked away too. 

Daryl shattered as the jar did, and he let himself feel everything, everything since his girl had told him the Governor was still alive and he'd taken his anger out on Rick with his fists. 

It felt like Daryl'd been half his father ever since then, and his daddy was the last person he wanted to be. 

He needed to get his shit together. 

He just hoped it wasn't too late; that maybe there was a bridge left back there with his family that he hadn't burned to dust and ash.


	15. As I Should

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major character death

He sobered up. He cleaned up. 

He waited until his brother and his girl and Tara left the camp, followed them a bit until he saw they were on the path of a buck. 

He saw his girl's eyes, blank and flat and empty too much like the way they'd been when Rick pulled the bag off her head in a smoke-filled shed, and he put serious thought to falling on another one of his own arrows. 

That look was his fault this time. 

 

He went into the camp while they were gone, and talked to Maggie for a while. He told her about Beth, how she'd saved his life and his soul and he was so sorry he hadn't been able to save her like she'd saved him. 

Maggie held him tight and cried with him, and she didn't blame him. She didn't tell him it was his fault, just told him he'd done his best and there was nothing more he could have done. 

He wished he could have believed her, but even though he knew she was wrong, her acceptance and love soothed some of the wild guilt and self blame raging like a storm inside him. 

Then Carol walked up and grabbed his arm, stopping him when he would have gone back into the trees. 

"Don't be an idiot, Daryl," she told him quietly, her voice angry but understanding. "Shit happens. I know you're grieving more than you want to let on, but you can't let this break you. Or her. You're more than your father, more than what he told you, and you didn't fail anyone. You haven't failed anyone here. You have people who love you and need you and care about you. Don't waste that." 

Then she walked away, leaving him to decide. 

 

He stayed close. 

Rick and the others came back, and Tyreese was dead, and that was just another weight on his soul. 

Maybe if he'd been with them, Tyreese would be alive. 

He watched the service from afar, and stayed where he was to watch as his girl stand with Rick while he did the hard work. 

Seemed his girl was always where the hard work needed to be done, and when Rick finished covering Tyreese and his shoulders slumped, Daryl felt a stab of that guilt. When his girl pushed off the tree she'd been leaning on and stepped to his friend's side, Daryl called himself an asshole and an idiot and worse. 

When Rick reached for her, Daryl saw the weight of the world on his friend's face, saw the way it lifted and lightened for just a moment as YN let Rick hold her and held him back with the fierce look of protection and care on her face. 

He was such an asshole.

 

He came back into camp that night, sitting and keeping watch over them all. 

They gave him lingering looks and there were whispers as they packed up the next morning and he helped, and he saw her looking at him, heart in her eyes. 

He didn't deserve to even speak to her, much less deserve that look of desperate need and wild hope he'd seen when he'd walked out of the trees the night before. 

So he didn't go to her, no matter how much it felt like he was being flayed alive to be this close and not tell her how sorry he was. Not tell her what an asshole he'd been and beg her to forgive him. 

He couldn't do that. 

But he couldn't run anymore either. 

 

He watched as she held them together. 

He watched as she and Rick and Carl melded into one being like the four of them had the last time things had been this bad, and it hurt- it hurt like the beatings from his dad had hurt, like the dead look in her eyes had hurt, like Merle's scornful voice had hurt- to see his brother take his place in their team. They all moved like one, Merle taking Daryl's place at her side, at Rick's side, and he could see that it wasn't like he'd accused. 

He'd always known it wasn't like that. 

He'd wanted them to hurt like he hurt, wanted them to hate him like he hated himself, and now that he wanted to take it back, he couldn't. 

And that hurt too.


	16. When the Weather Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> self harm  
> past physical and emotional abuse of a minor  
> referenced past emotional and sexual abuse

They were dying slowly. 

He felt like he was already dead. 

 

The pain helped. It felt like penance. 

He knew it was stupid, destructive, more of his daddy's bullshit. 

He knew she saw; he saw the flash of pain that filled up her dull empty eyes, but she didn't say anything, so he didn't either. 

He tried to pay for his sins with the pain, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag, then putting it out on the back of his own hand, or his arm, or whatever. 

His daddy'd punished him like this, when he'd taken up smoking two years after Merle'd left. He'd been fifteen, almost big enough to take his dad down if the asshole'd tried to use the belt on him. 

So when he'd found the ashtray in Daryl's room, he'd waited until that night, when Daryl was asleep, and told him if he was gonna steal his daddy's cigarettes and his daddy's ashtray, Daryl himself could be the damn ashtray. 

He'd woken up screaming, and his dad had backhanded him across the face before hissing out his little speech and making Daryl sit there and take it as he lit the last six in the pack Daryl'd hidden under his mattress, and put them out on the inside of Daryl's arm after one long draw on each of them. 

When he was done, his daddy'd tossed the empty pack down and just told him to buy his own next time, or they'd do it again. 

 

He'd been a fool to think anyone like him should have ever touched someone like her, he thought as he watched her in the barn. 

She hadn't eaten in two days, had barely had a drop of water in ages, but she'd stood in that circle and guarded them as they argued. She'd covered Carl as he carried Judith at a run for the barn, and now she dropped the lone walker with one shot and wrenched her arrow back out as her eyes went roaming for the others, to make sure they were ok. 

She made sure all of their people were in before she sat down herself and took one of the cans full of rainwater and drained it swiftly. When she rose began to walk the perimeter of the barn, he watched her as she went. 

Merle came up beside him as he leaned on the stall and watched his girl. Daryl was surprised; his brother hadn't done more than sneer or glare in his direction since Daryl'd sent his life up in flames in the woods. 

"Brother, if you don't get your head out of your goddamn sorry ass and at least try to make things right with her, I'll kill ya myself," Merle said softly, and Daryl looked over at him. 

"I'll let you," he whispered, and Merle shook his head and gave him that look of shame and pity and concern all mixed together. 

"Think I don't see what you're doin'? Old man told ya it was punishment, right? Hurt enough and things're square? Get your head straight, baby bro. She loves ya so damn much, it's killin' her with every goddamn breath. You get over there, you grovel, and you prove to her you're not the worthless asshole our daddy showed you how to be," Merle growled. 

"She ain't the only one who gives a damn about you, asshole," he added after a pause. Then he stalked away. 

 

She stayed when he asked her not to leave, but he saw what it cost her. 

He knew what that scum she'd been with before the world ended had done to her, how he'd fucked with her head and made her doubt herself. Made her believe she'd done everything wrong, all the time, and deserved to be treated the way he treated her. 

He knew it, and he'd done the same damn thing. 

He owed her to try, to tell her it was all his fault and she'd done nothin' wrong. Because it was, and he knew how she'd blame herself, question herself. 

Hell, he saw how she already was. 

"It don't mean nothin', but- I didn't mean it. What I said. I was just- just pissed at the world. At Merle, 'cause he'd called me out on my shit, and then was doin' my job. Takin' care of you'n'the others. But I took it out on you, and I- you cain't know how sorry I am, woman." He gave her the words, and when she asked him why, just a simple why was he doing the things he did, he told her the truth. 

"Cause I hate me, so I want everyone else to as well. I'm a failure at everythin' I do. My daddy was right about that. And when I'm like that- when I'm all messed up over somethin' and I'm drinkin' or whatever, I hate myself so much. Reminders that other people see somethin' in me, whatever it is, just piss me off. And I wanna take 'em down. 'Cause that way I can act like an asshole, I can not give a damn 'bout anyone, and nobody'll care. Nobody'll make me feel guilty 'bout not bein' strong or 'bout lashin' out. Nobody'll give me the damn time'a day, so I don't have to give it for anybody else either. 'S'easier than carin'."

She nodded, and he knew she understood. She didn't approve, but she understood. 

She'd always been good at understanding. 

"I'll leave ya alone still if that's what you want. What ya need. But I don't wanna. I love you, woman, even if I'm an asshole. Don't expect forgiveness or nothin'. Just wanna try to make it up to you. Somehow." 

Had to make it up to her. Had to tell her how sorry he was, had to show her that he wouldn't ever stoop this low again. Had to make sure she saw, even if it never fixed things between them, even if this night was where he lost her. 

Even if this storm never cleared, he had to make sure she knew how he loved her. 

"I'll keep my distance, but I ain't goin' nowhere. I'm done bein' my dad. I'll show you, darlin'; I will. This ain't the end of us," he promised.


	17. Things You Never Asked Her

He'd fucked it up again. 

He just missed her so damn bad. 

He knew better than to act like that in front of outsiders. He knew how damn precarious their position here was at the moment. He knew how badly they needed this place, for the kids, for his girl, for all of them. 

But when that slick politician lady had asked if she was their sister? That cut him deep. 

He wanted everyone to know she was his girl, goddamn it. 

There'd been a time when it wasn't even questioned, and that'd been before she had his last name. 

What the hell had happened to them?

 

He stood in the dark, watching her as she stared stonily at the night, the pretty well kept houses and lawns that made up this bizarre place they'd found. 

He'd already tried to get her to talk a bit, or go in and get some rest at least. She wasn't having any of it, and he could see the path the tears had left on her face. 

"Ain't like you to give me the cold shoulder. More my move'n yours," he said finally. 

He wanted to ask her if she hated him. Wanted to ask her if she still loved him. If she missed him like he missed her- like he'd have missed his lungs or his heart or his eyes if they were gone. 

He wanted to ask her if he'd lost her completely, or if there was a way, somewhere down the road, to come back from what he'd done. Even if it was the long way around, he'd take it for her. 

Instead, he stayed silent as she shrugged. "Don't have anything to say, Dixon." 

He'd thought the worst way she could say his name was that dead not-hers voice after the one-eyed bastard had hurt her. 

He'd been wrong. 

"I miss ya," he whispered, desperately. 

When she started crying, he found words just coming out of him, ones he couldn't stop. 

"She said somethin' to me. While we were there. She said she was gonna die. That'd she'd be gone some day. I told her not to, but then she... 'You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon.' That's what she said to me. And she was right. Soon's she was gone, I missed her. When I thought I'd found her again, that I'd get her back- it was like all that sadness was gone, and the world was gonna get brighter. Then she was gone again, and she was right. I still miss 'er."

"Why are you telling me this?" her voice was harsh, and he heard the pain in it; knew he was fucking it up even more as he tried to make it better. 

Goddamn it. He just had to hope he could say the right thing; there was no turning back now. 

"Because the way I miss her ain't got nothin' on the way I miss you. You're right here, close enough to touch, and I cain't. It ain't never been like this between us, woman, and I- I don't know what to do. I don't know how to think or act or anything. I said I'd leave ya alone, and I'm tryin', but I don't know how to do this without you. You've been by my side, in my life, just a whisper away, since I saw you on the side of that road. And I don't know what to do now that you're gone," he finished softly, and watched as her face twisted in pain and her eyes closed. 

He stepped over to her soundlessly, brushed his lips over her cheek and ran his hand over her hair, needing to touch her again, even if it was only for a moment. 

"I love ya. Don't you forget it," he begged her as he left.


	18. The Way That We Rust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cannon typical violence  
> reference to past abuse

When the asshole'd swung at her by the gate, he'd laughed a little even as he'd been pissed. 

Son of a bitch thought he could slap Daryl's girl and she'd go down? Fucker didn't even realize she had the blood of some scary bastards on her hands, and she was still standing. She'd held him and Merle back with a look, and he'd been grinning a little as she delivered the smack down. She'd been chafing in these walls, it seemed, same as him and Merle, since she was runnin' that smartass mouth of hers while she did.

But nobody put a hand on his girl and got away without a blow or two from Daryl Dixon as well. 

He saw her outside, leaning against the railing, and decided to take another chance. 

He'd been putting himself in her way a little more- not too much, not wanting to push, but some. She hadn't knocked him back yet; just the opposite, in fact. He'd gotten a few real smiles from her, and something was stirring inside him that felt a little like hope. 

He just prayed he wasn't being an idiot. That maybe- maybe- he could earn his way back to a second chance. 

He leaned casually against the railing beside her and lit a cigarette, hoping she'd assume that was why he was out there, not that he was lookin' to bug her or nothing. 

"Ya a'ight?" he asked as she glanced at him, and his heart skipped when her eyes were full of warmth, not the blank pain that he'd been seeing all too often. 

"He barely got a hit on me. Frankly, it was insulting," she said, and she sounded so disgusted that he grinned before he could help himself. 

He checked the healing cut along her cheek as she turned to look at him again, and the smile was gone before she could see. 

"Ain't all I meant," he told her seriously, and she shrugged and smiled slightly. 

He'd been right about how restless she was, apparently, because she looked annoyed as she answered. "This place could be good for us. We have to try. So, we try. For them, if not for us. You, me, and Merle could go live in the woods and be happy. They can't."

She really think that? His girl, who'd been so focused on building a civilization back up, who gave so much of herself to taking care of their little family- could she really be happy living in the woods like he knew he and his brother could? 

He wanted to know if she meant that, and he'd spent too long not asking her things he wanted to know. So he did. 

"You'd be happy livin' in the woods with us two rednecks? When ya could be here?"

"My name's Dixon too, isn't it?" she said, lifting her shoulder as she crossed her arms and leaned back against the corner post of the railing. 

His heart stuttered in his chest, and his lungs burned. He could see the way she closed herself as she said it, and knew it hurt her to say. 

It gave him so much hope. 

"Is it?" he whispered, and she looked in his eyes and gave a heavy sigh. 

Her voice was wistful as she spoke. "Never stopped loving you, Daryl." 

Need surged up in him and all he could do was stare at her, and she was staring back. 

 

He'd been watching her come apart for three days, spending all her time walking the town during the day and perched on the railing at night. When she bothered to sleep, it was curled in the damn porch swing. 

Now she was out there on the porch, pacing back and forth and glaring out at the street as her fingers ran up and down her bow's handle rapidly. 

The hell with this. He was gonna make her rest, even if it drove them further apart again. 

"How many nights you gonna stay out here? Been three days and nothin's happened," he said, arms crossed as he leaned on the house just outside the door. 

"Only takes one time, Dixon," she snapped as she paced. "And we had us a nice little brawl the other day." 

"Hardly a brawl. Barely a fight. Besides, ya didn't answer my question." 

"However many I have to," she said, and her voice was tired and anxious. She moved to the end of the porch, looking down at the other two houses their people'd moved into. 

"Gonna run yourself into the ground like this." He leaned against the railing to watch her as she paced, wondering what it was she was so afraid of. He recognized the low-level panic that was bubbling in her, though she was doing a damn good job of suppressing it. 

He realized it'd been a long time- before the prison fell long- since she'd had one of those moments where her own mind took her under and swept her away, and nothing he could do could reach her. 

"Nothin' happened yet. People're fine. What do you think is gonna happen?" he asked finally. He didn't think she even realized how close to the edge she was. 

"Nothing. Something. Hell, I don't know. That's the point," she snapped it at him, and he tried to lighten the mood a little, get her to laugh. 

"It's pissin' you off she ain't given you a job yet, huh?" he teased, and she turned those fire-filled eyes on him with a snarl and a fuck you, Dixon. 

That sent liquid fire right through him, and before he knew what he was doing, he was up in her space. Her eyes went wide, her lips parting slightly and her breathing hitching. Just to see what she'd do, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and her eyes followed the motion hungrily. 

Goddamn, he wanted her back. 

"I could make all this shit between us disappear, couldn't I?" he said softly, trailing his fingers down her face and watching her eyes darken and half close. "Wouldn't take much. Know ya too damn well." 

He paused, considering his next move as he felt the wild, jagged beat of her pulse under his fingers. 

He knew what he wanted. He wanted to capture those lips with his, press her up against the door, and take her back. Make her his again, hard and rough and passionate and possessive; and he knew if he just kissed her, once, right now- 

He dropped his hand and pressed his lips to her forehead instead, stepping back. 

It damn near killed him to do so. 

"Wouldn't be right though," he said softly. "I screwed up. It's not just the pushin' ya away. You'd forgive that too easy. It's what I said. About Merle, about Rick."

He saw the moment the fog cleared from her eyes and the pain came back, and he dropped his eyes as shame crashed over him again. 

"That shit ain't right. And not just 'cause of what you told me, 'bout how it was before. With the asshole. It wouldn't be right even without that. You ain't done nothin' wrong, woman. Ya ain't. I've seen you, givin' me these guilty glances when I'm around and you interact with Rick and Merle; hell, even Glenn'n the others. It was all me. You never question my friendships. I mean, ain't like I got a ton of 'em, but Carol. Beth. You never looked a damn bit sideways at anythin', and I went straight for that. Cause I knew it'd hurt ya. And I'm sorry." He spoke quietly, trying to show her he meant it. Trying to prove that he knew. 

"I questioned Beth a little," she whispered, arms wrapped around herself as she tried not to fall apart. He could see it, and he wanted to sweep her into his arms and be the damn shoulder she needed. 

That was what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to help his girl, hold her up when she needed strength and catch her when she fell down. 

But he couldn't.

"Naw. You didn't. You questioned why I wasn't talkin'. I'm the one who said you were jealous. Started goin' for the throat even then." 

He hopped onto the railing and pulled out a cigarette, gesturing her back into the house as he slid it between his teeth. "Listen, I ain't tryin' to push or nothing. Just wanted to tell you, I get it. I know. Go inside. Lay down in a damn bed and get some sleep. I'll keep ya safe."


	19. And Breathe Again

He'd made the effort for her, and even though he hadn't made it to the damn party, he couldn't be upset that he had tried. Aaron and Eric were good people, and he'd gotten a lot out of the deal, after all. 

Dinner, a motorcycle, and a job for him, Merle, and potentially his girl. 

Not bad results for a shower and clean shirt. 

But finding his girl waiting up, watching for him to come home, and the easy conversation that flowed between them when he sat beside her? 

That was worth anything Daryl had to give. 

She shifted on the railing, talking about how Deanna didn't like her, and he knew all that. He just wanted to hear her talk. When she said Maggie'd make a great leader, he'd just smiled at her. 

"You'd be a better one," he told her honestly, and he shifted a little too. His foot brushed her leg, and he saw her shiver. 

He was staring at her, at the way the moonlight hit her face and glowed in her eyes, and he missed her so much. So much. 

She said his name, softly, just a breath of air from her lips that hitched with unshed tears, and he fought himself. 

He fought everything in him not to just scoop her up and crush her to him and tell her to stop being an idiot and come back to him. 

He just wanted her to come back to him. 

"I miss you," she breathed. 

He couldn't hold himself back anymore. He couldn't. 

She was practically falling off the railing into his arms, and he was holding her tightly and breathing her in. He pressed his face into her neck and let the tears fall, unashamed. 

His fingers threaded into her hair, and he knew he shouldn't do that, but he didn't think he had control over his actions anymore. He was kissing his way up her neck, urgent and needy, and then he paused right over her lips, asking permission, pleading with the shaking of his hands that he couldn't stop. 

 

She kissed him and he was broken; he couldn't hold himself back anymore, and he had her pressed to the door as he tried to touch every inch of her body to his. Then he broke the kiss with a sigh, his hands on her face as he leaned his forehead into hers and begged her, because he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't go on like this, so close but so far away from her. 

If she told him no, he'd leave. 

"Don't- don't- Don't say this is a mistake. Don't tell me to leave ya alone. I cain't. I cain't. I need you, YN. I do. I'll spend the rest of my life tellin' you I'm sorry, but please- please-"

She gave a pained cry, like he was tearing her apart, and something died inside him. But he let her go, he turned away. 

He wouldn't push, and he didn't deserve it anyway. 

He jerked around as she flung herself back into his arms, eyes wide as he caught her and she spoke, soft and rapid and as desperate as his pleading had been as she burrowed her face in his neck and clung to him. 

"I love you, and I swear to God if you let me go right now, I'll be so lost in the dark I can't find my way back. You're home, Daryl Dixon, and I need you so much." 

He didn't even remember getting up to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't listened to "Oats on the Water" or Ben Howard's Burgh Island EP, I highly recommend it, since it was pretty much the soundtrack of this piece! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone! Keep an eye out for the next installment, to be started soon!


End file.
